


Where Palm Trees Grow

by xianvar



Series: June Special: Bingo [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkward Flirting, HP: EWE, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Well party conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 19:16:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11237463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xianvar/pseuds/xianvar
Summary: A war alters your perspective, and facilitates new meetings. And, well, they have always said there is a fine line between love and hate...“What do you have there?” Draco asked later that evening, words carefully enunciated and even more carefully chosen, tone modulated into civil to the best of his abilities. He didn’t know why he was still here, didn’t know how he had avoided a confrontation so far, but he did know that he had likely had too much to drink. It didn’t matter.Potter grinned, and this time, it reached his eyes, made them impossibly brighter even with his glasses. “Sex on the Beach.”His grin looked almost flirty, Draco thought, and then cursed the alcohol for making him think such silly thoughts. “You want to try it?” Potter asked, and for a moment—a short moment, granted—before Draco’s brain was quite caught up with the proceedings, he felt—something flood his body, something that was not the alcohol and not quite panic.





	Where Palm Trees Grow

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo, there we go with part three of my [FFC Bingo Card](http://kephiso.dreamwidth.org/6765.html#cutid1)!  
> This time the prompt was _Sex on the Beach_ ^^  
>  Title from _Rise Against_ , _Swing Life Away_ which is probably an all-time-fave of mine. Especially as far as summer songs are concerned!  
>  Unbeta'd, so if you see something, ~~say nothing and drink to forget~~ tell me please! I promise I don't bite!

“Hey,” somebody said, and it took Draco a moment to realize the speaker was talking to him. He took another sip of his drink, stalling or trying to fortify himself, he wasn’t sure. The voice had been too soft to identify immediately, and he was in no hurry to find out who _deigned_ speak to him (or worse, had come to tell him exactly what they thought about him).

There was a rustle behind him, and then the somebody dropped into the sand next to him. Draco tried to look out of the corner of his eye as unobtrusively as possible. Messy black hair, the sinking sun catching on glasses, tanned skin—he just barely suppressed the urge to sigh. _Of course._

“Potter,” he said in greeting, still keeping his eyes on the horizon. He was actually a little proud of his voice coming out steady and neutral, belying his heart racing in his chest, his hand itching for his wand just in case.

“Malfoy,” Potter greeted back, in an equally bland and inoffensive tone that it made Draco want to lash out. That was probably not what Potter had been aiming for.

 Potter didn’t say anything else, and Draco was—not exactly content to let the silence grow, but he also couldn’t think of anything to say. He snorted. Things had been easier back when they were still hurling insults at each other at every possible opportunity.

“What’s so funny?” Potter asked, and when Draco actually looked at him, in no hurry to answer, his face was relaxed and casually open, though there was no hiding the shadows haunting his eyes, the way his shoulders were just shy of relaxed.

“Just…” Draco gestured between the two of them, shrugging. In lieu of answering, he caught the silly straw his drink had come with, looking at Potter again. He barely knew this person next to him, he realized.

Potter had a glass in his hand that hadn’t lost more than a sip or two, and most of the ice cubes had reverted back to their water form. This wasn’t the scrawny child who had refused his hand so many years ago. Neither was he the sullen teen angry at the whole world that had placed so much on his shoulders (hadn’t they all been like this, to a certain degree?).

Draco wanted to think that that person next to him was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived Twice and Hero of Hogwarts, wanted to despise him for being that person but—

Potter, right then, was none of those things. He was a young man with shadows hovering around his edges, clutching his drink like it was a life line. Hell, he’d come out here willingly to talk to Draco, far away from all the other party goers, and so far, there had been neither curses nor insults.

 _Maybe Potter is just Potter_ , Draco thought, and let his glass sink again.

“Why are you here?” he asked, trying to keep his voice curious only.

Potter was silent for a considerable time, and Draco was content to simply let him be. It was novel but it was not _bad_ , this shared quiet, not even Draco’s thoughts acting up and clamoring for attention. It was _peaceful_.

“They said it would be good for me to go out and meet up with old friends,” Potter finally said, gaze fixed in the far distance.

Draco hummed, and Potter’s shoulders relaxed minutely. He ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up even worse than usual. Well, it did sort of suit him.

“What are you doing here?” Potter didn’t lob the question, his voice soft. It felt like he _handed_ it to Draco, even while carefully not looking over as he brought his drink to his lips.

Draco did the same, pondering his options. Well, Potter was honest, so he—he probably owed him, didn’t he?

“I was watching the sunset and hoping the waves would drown out that terrible music,” he said, and Potter laughed, an honest, startled laugh that almost reached his eyes.

“It’s not the best the Muggles have to offer,” Potter agreed. Draco expected him to go on, to offer up examples of music he thought was good, but nothing else seemed to be forthcoming. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco could see that Potter was staring at him. He busied himself with his drink, not even pretending to himself that it would make Potter back off. That was simply not who Potter was.

True to that, Potter just kept staring. Draco sighed. “I was interested in how my fellow class mates had been doing, recently.” _I needed to get out of the house_ , he did not say. Potter smiled as though he could still hear the words, before his something akin to mischief entered his eyes. It made them look a whole lot more alive and closer to how Draco remembered them from stand-offs at school. He averted his eyes.

“And you’re accomplishing that by sitting on the pier and hoping the waves drown out all other noise?”

Draco shrugged, unsure how to retort. He _was_ sitting here all alone… Another swallow of his drink. He could feel the alcohol spreading through him, warming him from the inside.

“Potter.” He paused for a second, surprised at the bitterness in his voice. “Let us be honest here for a moment.” The self-deprecation wasn’t much better, he thought, but pushed on regardless. “Who out there would actually be happy to see me and talk to me?”

He let the statement hang in the air and took another sip of his drink. He was down to the last dregs, watery and not even cold anymore, and before Potter could retort anything, he levered himself up and went over to the bar, not too quickly, but with purpose, trying to keep his posture relaxed and non-threatening.

If he pretended not to see people stare and turn away to whisper, or even flinch when he brushed by too close, he almost felt welcome here.

~*~

“What do you have there?” Draco asked later that evening, words carefully enunciated and even more carefully chosen, tone modulated into civil to the best of his abilities. He didn’t know why he was still here, didn’t know how he had avoided a confrontation so far, but he did know that he had likely had too much to drink. It didn’t matter.

Potter grinned, and this time, his grin reached his eyes, made them impossibly brighter even with his glasses. “Sex on the Beach.” His grin looked almost flirty, Draco thought, and then cursed the alcohol for making him think such silly thoughts.

“That’s an … interesting name,” he said, shifting slightly to make room for Potter to lean against the railing next to him.

Potter laughed, careful not to slosh his cup. The world was soft around the edges now, the darkness a warm hug around them. Somebody had probably cast a weather charm, now that he thought about it, because there was no way it should be this warm at this time of the night.

“You want to try it?” Potter asked, and for a moment—a short moment, granted—before Draco’s brain was quite caught up with the proceedings, he felt—something flood his body, something that was not the alcohol and not quite panic. He looked at Potter, askance, until Potter pushed the glass in his direction.

“It’s _Gryffindor-colour_ ,” Draco complained, and Potter just laughed at that, brought the drink to his own lips.

It left them shiny, and Draco could not look away as his tongue darted out, licking the alcohol off. There was heat rising in his belly, unlike alcohol or panic still, not startling in sudden flooding but a measured spread that left his limbs tingling, his mind wide awake. The world felt sharper, all of a sudden, more intense, and Draco swallowed.

“Sure you don’t wanna try?”

Draco took the proffered glass on autopilot, tried not to think about how Potter had just had his lips on the rim, and took a sip of his own. It was—not bad. The vodka burned his throat, but other ingredients, fruity and summery gave it a playful twist.

He kept his eyes on Potter, their gazes locked, and he did not miss Potter looking when he licked his lips clean.

He allowed himself a small smile, brushing his fingers against Potters on purpose as he gave the glass back. He did not have to fake the shiver that ran through him at the contact.

“Well,” Potter said, his voice hoarse, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I—I think –Luna.”

Draco watched him flee, and did not feel guilty at all for ogling Potter’s arse as he did so.

~*~

The next time Draco saw Potter, it was a second’s warning before lips crashed into his, uncoordinated and clearly drunk. He gave himself a moment to commit the feeling of Potter’s lips on his own, before he gently pushed him away. Potter was clearly drunk, and if his friends observed them like this—if Draco did _anything_ to him, his life would probably be forfeit.

He was not insane enough to trade his life for a snog with the bloody Saviour.

“You’re drunk,” he told Potter, and resolutely did not look at the sad and disappointed puppy eyes Potter gave him. “And you are not cute.”

Potter pouted harder, looking, indeed, quite cute. Draco would deny that to his death, though.

“I think we better find Granger.”

“Killjoy,” Potter slurred, but he did not actually put up a fight as Draco dragged him along in the direction he had last seen that bushy head of hair (or rather, where he had last seen Weasley’s shock of red hair, far easier to locate both due to colour and due to his height).

It was not actually hard to find Granger, but it still meant squeezing through quite a throng of people (or go around and chance missing those damned Gryffindors). It meant Potter crowded closer to Draco’s side, though, and so Draco could not even complain. Potter fit there perfectly, enough difference in height between them for Potter’s head to rest against Draco’s shoulder, his shoulders perfect for Draco to wrap his arm around them. He did it purely to make sure that Potter did not just disappear in the masses, of course, but it was, undoubtedly, a nice perk.

Granger was bright-eyed, her cheeks flushed, leaning against an equally flushed Weasel. Despite her being considerably smaller than him, he couldn’t say for sure who was supporting whom. They were both (and Draco had to admit he was a little surprised at that) significantly more sober than Potter.

“Er,” Draco said, and then berated himself mentally for being so ineloquent. He had been raised better than this. “Weasley, Granger,” he started again, trying to shape his voice into the same neutrality that had worked with Potter Merlin knew how many hours ago. He thought he succeeded, for the most part at least. “I seem to have found something that belongs with you.”

The Weasel looked at him warily, but Granger smiled, and Draco pretended he didn’t notice the way it was strained and just a little forced.

“Oh, Harry,” she said, exasperated, and she didn’t even wobble when she detached herself from the Weasel’s side. “I had been looking for you.”

Potter grinned at her, apparently honestly delighted. “But you saw me leave, you told me to go out and meet people.”

Granger looked like it cost her quite a bit to restrain herself from saying anything to this, but Draco had no such compunctions. It was no secret what the Golden Trio thought of him.

“I’m pretty sure she did not mean me with that,” he said, and the look of surprise on Granger’s face was gratifying.

Potter went back to pouting, leaning into Draco harder again.

“But I like you!”

Draco felt his eyes wide and just barely resisted the urge to shove Potter away from him. The statement hung in the air, an equal mixture of bewilderment and disbelief on Granger’s face. It was probably mirrored on his own. He didn’t quite dare look at the Weasel.

“I think that’s the alcohol talking,” Draco said finally, after the silence had gone beyond awkward and into mortifying.

He began the process of peeling Potter away from him, which was harder than it ought to be; he didn’t exactly expect Granger to help him, but very little could have prepared him for her saying, “Though you know what? Couldn’t you help Harry back to his room instead?”

Draco froze, not even able to react to Weasley sputtering behind Granger and turning a lovely shade of white. _What_ had she just said?

Granger did look a little nervous, but Potter had melted back into his side, his small sigh of satisfaction not quite quiet enough for Draco to miss it. _What was going on here_?

“Yeah, Draco,” Potter said, words still slurred, “take me to my room.”

And before Draco could even think properly about it, he had disentangled himself and was backing away without ever taking away his eyes from that evil, evil witch he had always assumed to be studious and nice and _Gryffindor_.

“I think—I need another drink,” he said.

“Me too, mate,” Weasley agreed, and then they shared another horrified look at Weasley’s words, before Draco turned and definitely did not flee. He just—he was very thirsty all of a sudden, okay?

~*~

If Draco had thought that encountering Potter the next morning would be awkward, it was nothing against crossing paths with Granger at the hotel they had rented for the weekend.

She blushed immediately upon seeing him and stammered through an apology while never quite meeting his eyes.

Only Draco’s immaculate upbringing and the frequent reminders that he flushed splotchily kept the heat from rising in his cheeks too, but his will-power was not quite enough  to formulate a coherent response, either.

Seeing Potter himself was a walk in the park compared to that. It might have had to do with the fact that Potter stumbled in obviously still hung-over, did noticeably not look at Granger and the Weasel (who were also just happening to look in the other direction while he filled his plate with greasy anti-hangover potion) and then seemed to actually be relieved when he spotted Draco.

Draco still refused to be embarrassed, instead focusing on rummaging through the magically extended pockets on his coat. It wasn’t strictly speaking cool enough to warrant a coat, but its usefulness far outweighed the discomfort of carrying it with him.

“My head…” Potter moaned, looking a little ill as he regarded his breakfast.

“Trust you Gryffindors to not be prepared.”

“Hey!” Something that might be a fight returned to Potter’s posture, but it dissipated quickly with another whimper of misery.

Draco _ts_ ked, and set the bottle of potion down none-too-gently.

He could almost hear the house-elves rattling in Potter’s brain as he was trying to work out what it was.

“Trying to poison me?” he asked as he unstoppered the vial, sniffing its contents. At least he had some sensibilities left in him.

“Something like that,” Draco said, and Potter simply laughed as he downed the potion.

 _You’re too damn trusting_ , Draco thought, but didn’t say out loud, because Potter was, after all, a Gryffindor, and those were not exactly known for their survival instincts.

Potter sighed as the potion set it, lines on his forehead disappearing, his whole complexion looking healthier. “Fuck,” he breathed, the sound almost filthy. “I think I love you.” He said it casually, digging into his food the next moment, oblivious to the words sinking into Draco’s brain, shaking him to the core.

Potter had obviously not meant it in any significant way, and yet—and yet those words set Draco down a path he wasn’t sure he wanted to be on.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, and his voice was dry enough to mask any other emotions that were not supposed to be there.

Potter smiled up at him through lashes, then, and Draco had a short moment of thinking that maybe Potter knew very well what he was doing, before he firmly pushed those thoughts to the side.

The silence that settled while they both busied themselves with their food was surprisingly non-awkward, and of course Potter saw the need to shatter that fragile peace as soon as he was mostly done with his breakfast.

“I’m sorry for Hermione last night.” He had an expression on his face as though he would go on for quite a bit, and Draco stared at him with growing horror.

“Merlin,” he interrupted before Potter could indeed go on, “please spare me. I got the whole apology spiel from Granger already before you came downstairs, and trust me when I say once was enough.”

Potter grinned at that, wholly unconcerned. “That wasn’t quite where I was going with that.” He actually winked at Draco, managing to make it not seem sleazy at all. It was admirable, actually. “I mean, yeah, she was pretty embarrassing, but I think she thought it was payback for—” Potter seemed to realize what he was saying and bit his lip, hesitating for a second. “Well, it was payback for a lot of things. Still, I honestly would not have minded you getting me back to my room.”

“Potter,” Draco said, voice horrified at Potter simply saying these things in here, amidst all these people. “Do you know—there are people _listening_.”

Potter looked around as though he had only just become aware of their old classmates staring at them. Well, he probably had—they hadn’t been high on Draco’s list of priorities either, truth be told.

The Potter shrugged and went back to mopping up the last of his egg yolk with some bread. “Let them. I would have thought you, too, would have been used to people gossiping.”

And—Draco had been, had relished in it once upon a time. These days, people gossiping were more likely to get him in trouble than to envy him, though. Which Potter probably knew, too. His school days hadn’t just been flowers and roses, and in no small part that had been due to Draco. He didn’t apologize, and Potter didn’t seem to expect him to.

Potter let the somber atmosphere linger for a moment, before he visibly perked up. The expression on his face made Draco apprehensive of what was to come, and he was not to be disappointed:

“You should come up to my room, though,” Potter said, obviously uncaring of who heard. Even with Draco’s ample practice in ignoring people, it was hard not to notice the sudden silence around them. And Potter still did not care. “I mean, I need to,” and here Potter actually wiggled his eyebrows as he leered, “repay you for the potion.”

Draco stared at him, equally horrified at Potter for actually saying that and at himself for _finding it charming; Merlin, what was **wrong** with him_?

“Has anybody ever told you you’re terrible at this flirting thing?”

Potter at least had the decency to look slightly abashed.  Any goodwill that might have built up was destroyed though by his next words. “It is sort of working, isn’t it?”

And Draco, to his never-ending disbelief and shame, had to admit that yes, it was indeed working.

Damned Gryffindors.

And yet he did follow Potter up to his room, later—not for nefarious purposes, mind you, but simply—simply to make sure that Potter got back safely. There was no reason for Granger to look so smug, damn her!

(And if Potter had him pinned against the door as soon as he got inside, his lips greedy on Draco’s, hands even greedier in unbuttoning Draco’s shirt, the two of them gasping as they shed their clothes as fast as possible; if Draco buried his hands in Potter’s hair, staring at the tight stretch of Potter’s lips around his aching prick; if Potter gave the prettiest moans spread out underneath Draco, opening so easily under his fingers—well, who was there to tell?)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! If you feel like it, come say hi at my [DW](https://kephiso.dreamwidth.org). There may be things that bite, my journal is not among them (don't believe what other people tell you! They are lying!)


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